Miriam Toews - A Boy of Good Breeding

But what’s wrong with this country? thought Hosea. “That’s too bad,” he said. His thoughts turned to Caroline Russo. He remembered her orange lunch box. She had called the colour eldorado nights or eldorado sunset or something like that.

“So about a week ago, when we had the first big thaw, I’m riding in the truck with Tiny and I smell something weird and I look over at him and he’s got blood and hair hanging off his. Snout sure enough we get home, I go out back, and I see that Tiny’s been digging at Yusef’s grave and then I get closer and I see that he’s actually dug him right up and I see that parts of Yusef have been eaten.”

“He’s been eating Yusef?” asked Hosea.

“Yeah! And then I thought back to the day I buried. Yusef had Tiny been hanging around? Watching I knew he was shook up about Yusef. Dying they were good friends there towards the end.”

“But he ate him,” said Hosea.

“Yeah,” said Johnny, and he began to laugh. He sat there laughing and Hosea stared at him. Johnny began to laugh harder and finally Hosea got it. He grinned. He rubbed his hands on his thighs and began to laugh.

Max and Knute had worked out a sort of arrangement. He looked after Summer Feelin’ from quarter to ten in the morning ‘til quarter after two in the afternoon. Those were the hours that Knute worked for Hosea. Although calling it work was a bit of an exaggeration. Mostly it just gave her a break from Tom and Dory and Summer Feelin’. Tom was having more chest pain lately and was feeling depressed. He had quit practising his juggling. He had quit going to the garage to read his veterinarian journals. Dory was worried about him but at the same time she was restless and annoyed. The wallpaper was coming down in sheets all over the house and she’d bought herself a new hammer. Summer Feelin’ was giddy with excitement over Max’s return and was doing a lot of shaking and flapping. Max and Knute hadn’t really talked much about anything. They’d had coffee at the Wagon Wheel together but it was just like always. It was fun at first but then Knute would get a thought in her head and she’d start getting more and more pissed off. The more pissed off she got, the more he joked around. He joked and she glared. And then she got tired of being the sullen, injured one and she said, “Fuck this noise,” and left. She really wanted to hurt him the same way he had hurt her, but she didn’t know how to. The rest of the time, whenever Max and Knute were together, Summer Feelin’ was with them and then, of course, everything was kind of strained. Summer Feelin’ and Max adored each other and Knute hung around saying things like “Watch her head” or “She should eat lunch first.” Tom and Dory were wondering if Max was going to give Knute regular child support money and they also wondered if Summer Feelin’ was going to be safe over at Combine Jo’s place with all her drinking and lumbering around. The one time Max had been in the same room as Tom, Tom had said, “So, Max, are you still … putting pen to paper? Still looking for someone to publish your … jottings?” And Dory had given Tom a look and said, “It’s called poetry, Tom.” And he had said, “Oh really,” and walked away.

Once Max had asked Dory if all kids flapped as much as Summer Feelin’ did and she had said, “Oh, well, that’s just something she does.”

He had said, “What do you mean that’s just something she does? Shouldn’t it be checked out or something? Has she seen a doctor about it? She looks like a hummingbird, man, she could lift off anytime.” Then Dory had become irritated.

“Max,” she said, “Knutie has been taking very good care of Summer Feelin’ with no help from you. Of course she’s been checked out. She’s fine. And nobody appreciates you, of all people, second-guessing Knute’s efforts.” She paused and then she said, “You can just keep your mouth shut, Buster.”

Max and Knute looked at her. Buster? Knute thought to herself, Dory’s mad.

“Really, Knute, he has no right to come in here and question your ability to parent, I mean …”

And Knute had said, “I know, I know.”

And Max had said, “Sorry, Dory, you’re right. It was just all that fluttering and flapping, you know, I was expecting a back door to open up on her and a battalion of soldiers to jump out with flak jackets and camouflage, with somebody giving her hand signals for lift-off—”

“Oh shut up,” Dory had said and then, “Excuse me,” as she stalked out of the room with her hammer and a pail of plaster.

Just then Summer Feelin’ came running into the room. Max said, “Hey, Summer Feelin’, it’s a beautiful day for collecting bottles. Get your rubber boots on and we’ll hit the ditches around the dike. They’re full of ’em.” This idea got Summer Feelin’ flapping and Max started beating his chest to make helicopter noises and saying things like “incoming,” “over,” “prepare troops for landing,” “all clear.” Knute looked at Max. At his mouth and his hands, his boots, his narrow hips.

Knute said good-bye to no one in particular and left for work. There was a lot to do. Hosea said he wanted to concentrate on painting the water tower. “Red, with a white horse running right around it,” he said. And something about turning the old feed mill into a theatre for young people. Neither of these ideas seemed feasible to Knute. Maybe a red water tower, okay, but how would they get a huge white horse painted on the top of it? “Why a horse?” she’d said. “Why not just the name Algren?”

“No,” Hosea said, “it should be a horse, a white horse.” She told him that if they painted a horse right around the top of it, it would look like the horse was chasing its butt, like a dog with worms. Then she mentioned that even though the feed mill might make a great theatre, the youth of Algren seemed more interested in playing pool at Norm’s and going to the city whenever they got the chance. Maybe Hosea could turn the feed mill into an arcade, or a shooting range, but a theatre? Summer stock? In Algren? “Well, then,” Hosea said, “see what you can do about getting rid of that black dog.” This she could handle, she thought. No problem. She could find some farmer outside town, maybe in Whithers, who would want a dog, or she’d just take it into the city, to the Humane Society, and let them find a home for it.

“By the way,” Hosea said, “his name’s Bill Quinn.”

“Bill Quinn?” said Knute. “You mean, he has a first and a last name? Bill Quinn? If he has a name, doesn’t he have an owner?”

“Nope,” Hosea said. “No, he doesn’t. He’s his own dog.”

“Oh, Bill’s a lone wolf, eh?”

“Yes, he is,” said Hosea.

Knute was about to say, “Friend of yours?” But Hosea wasn’t finished.

“Knute?” he’d said, just before walking out the door, “Please don’t let him get hurt. Just get him out of town in one piece.”

Knute said she’d do what she could and then sat for a minute and looked out the window on to Main Street. She saw Combine Jo sitting cross-legged on the hood of her car and looking at a magazine. She was wearing a fishing hat with hooks in it. God, she thought, that woman is S.F.’s grandmother. Knute looked the other way down Main Street and there were Marilyn and Josh! She opened the window and stuck her head out. “Marilyn! Hello!” she yelled. “What are you doing here?” Before she could answer Combine Jo yelled up at Knute.

“Hey, Knutie! I’m looking at my Canadian Tire book here, and kids’ bikes are cheap! Do you think Summer Feelin’ would want one? Does she ride a two-wheeler yet, or a trike? Max could teach her how to ride a two-wheeler, or we could get a two-wheeler and put the, what do you call ’em, training wheels on it. What do you think? Why don’t you come down here and have a look! There is one in here with a very sharp racing stripe, and it’s purple, did you know purple is S.F.’s favourite colour? And a basket would be nice, too, don’t you think?”